


nineteen (this place that felt so awkward)

by wideningsky



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Idk is this slow burn?, Jisung is nineteen, M/M, Minor Hwang Hyunjin/Seo Changbin, My first work ever help, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wideningsky/pseuds/wideningsky
Summary: “Han. Call me Han,” Jisung says without thinking. And because he’s still internally panicking about the fake name he gave Minho and how overwhelming beautiful the other boy is, somehow the next thing he tells him is, “You’re pretty.”“You’re drunk.” Minho immediately shoots back, though there’s zero bite to the words.orThe obligatory Minsung fic in which destiny is a lot less straightforward than everybody makes it out to be.“Our universe does indeed run on science, but transcending what we currently have tools to study exists another system rippling under the quantum fabric of perception—one that does not obey conventional rules.”—Daniel Kim, Professor of Theoretical Physics at Seoul National University
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16
Collections: STRAY KIDS MV FICFEST





	nineteen (this place that felt so awkward)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [skzmvfest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/skzmvfest); inspired by Stray Kids' [19 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfd6_PIZong) MV
> 
> Hi! This is my first time participating in a fest and posting a fic in general, so tysm for clicking in and taking the time to read ^O^

Han Jisung learns about soulmates and destiny in gradual degrees. Like many parents around the world, his mom and dad break these abstract concepts down through bedtime stories—ones filled with star-crossed lovers, happy endings, people tied together by intangible forces of the universe.

But it’s not until the age of five that Jisung truly begins to _understand_.

His father finds him sprawled across the living room floor one day, muttering intently to the black 19 inked on the inside of his left wrist. “Jisu—”

“Shhh,” Jisung shushes him aggressively before whisper-yelling, “Dad. My soulmate can’t hear me if you talk so loud!”

Laughing, his father squats down to tickle Jisung’s exposed side. “Sorry son, but soulmarks aren’t exactly like walkie-talkies.” He takes off his glasses and wipes them with his shirt, seemingly in contemplation about how to continue.

“Jisungie, you know how last time when your brother broke his ankle and you couldn’t walk properly either for two weeks?” His father waits for Jisung to nod, then asks, “And what happened?”

“We got…this?” Jisung gestures at an imprint of two red chain links marking the location of where Jibeom’s injury had occurred that’s mirrored on his own leg.

“Bingo. There are many different types of soulmarks for different types of relationships—your mom and I have each other’s names written here,” Jisung’s father says, pointing at the slope of his collarbone, “But you and Jibeom are you and Jibeom, so no one else has the soulmark you guys share. The thing is, Jisungie, there isn’t necessarily One Person out in the world for you to marry and settle down with. Soulmarks are guides and suggestions for us to find happiness, but many people can be part of that, it’s also up to you to choose your destiny.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m confused.” Jisung throws a squirrel plushie at his father, pouting when it misses and lands harmlessly on the couch.

“To be honest, everybody’s confused when it comes to soul-related-things,” Jisung’s father replies, laughing, “Like okay, your mom’s name is Seori. There are probably fifty something Seoris in Korea, but when I first met your mom, I decided to ask her out because she was a special Seori in my eyes.”

He lightly traces the _19_ mark on Jisung’s wrist, “19 could mean you’ll love nineteen people in your lifetime, or something really significant will take place when you turn nineteen. I don’t know for sure. What’s between you and your soulmates is the possibility of love, a connection that maybe isn’t really there yet but exists just at the surface of your senses and skin.”

 _Possibility_ , Jisung rolls the word around his mouth like a piece of candy whose flavor he can’t quite place, the consonants catching on his teeth and coming out a bit mangled.

Jisung’s father resumes explaining with a patient smile on his face, “And you’ll get more soulmarks later on when important people come into your life; occasionally you might even feel things like their pain, similar to what happened with your brother.”

“That’s so,” Jisung flails randomly for a second before busting out new vocabulary he’d picked up at kindergarten that day, “Weird.”

“Yes Jisungie, I completely agree. The world is a weird weird place.”

\--

“Our universe does indeed run on science, but transcending what we currently have tools to study exists another system rippling under the quantum fabric of perception—one that does not obey conventional rules. Sufficient evidence has been collected through repeated experimentation to conclude that the spatial cloth is thinner between soulmates; individuals occupy the same temporal space, connected by phantom nerves that give material form to innate survival instincts. On a psychological/sensory level, these instincts are often compared to intense déjà vu. They also have visible counterparts which manifest as tinted images on the skin (colloquially referred to as ‘soulmarks’).”

—Daniel Kim, Professor of Theoretical Physics at Seoul National University

\--

The years pass—Jisung first loses his braces and then most of his wide-eyed curiosity; he daydreams a little less and instead finds himself preoccupied with the dismal task of surviving school. Nobody had warned him about how _boring_ life could be, how mind-numbingly repetitive it is to wake up every day to find things exactly the same as when you fell asleep. Jisung starts not caring much about anything, he does homework and goofs off with friends, but it’s all just a way to spend time—there’s no purpose to this unanchored drifting. He wouldn’t call it a bad life, just one that feels slightly hollow. 

Then Jisung discovers music.

It occurs during the move to Malaysia, when home seems impossibly far away and eight-year-old Jisung is suddenly plunged into classrooms where nobody speaks his language. There, under the sunshine and humidity of Kuala Lumpur, music becomes more than simply entertainment; it’s a way for Jisung to escape and the lens through which he views the world. He finds a voice in song lyrics, and beats thrum through his body like electricity, keeping him going through days when every limb feels heavy and out of place.

Jisung’s knees are bruised more often than not—subtle reminders that there’s someone else walking along a path set to eventually converge with his own. On sleepless nights when he’s working until dawn creeps over the horizon, Jisung lets himself wonder about his future and what it’ll bring. Faceless people with matching _19_ s stamped across their skin, brightly lit stages, and a whirling amalgamation of music that blends into one continous melody…

Over time the name Peter Han starts to feel more like his own, and Jisung meets people just as passionate about music as he is. They teach him basic song production and rap techniques; he introduces them to the beauty of K-pop. They’re a family, and so when it comes time for Jisung to return to Korea halfway through middle school, he cries for almost an hour straight.

Because he doesn’t know if Seoul will take him back.

\--

WHY does this day feel like it’s passing by so ~~fast~~ quickly

~~1, 2, 3~~

_When I count to three_

Can everything disappear like ~~smoke~~ ~~a mirage~~ a dream

And I ~~will~~ go back to where I was ~~yesterday~~ before

Back, back, back, back, BACK, b a c k

Go back to before

Where everyday was the same, same, same, same, same, same

 ~~It was the~~ same back then

If right now ~~leaves~~ passes then it’ll seem so far away

It’ll feel like I ~~can’t~~ won’t be able to _see_ the current _me_ again

 ~~Let me~~ ~~please~~ I just wanna go back

Back, back, back, back, back, back

Back to before

—Han Jisung, date unknown 

\--

“Just don’t make any bad decisions while I’m gone, okay?” Jisung can hear tell-tale rustling through the phone as Hyunjin speaks, indicating that he’s once again chosen to start packing the night before flying out on tour with his dance company. 

“When do I ever?”

“Bro. I came back from that exchange program in New York last summer and you hadn’t left the apartment in a literal fucking month.” Hyunjin is starting to sound exasperated, and Jisung can clearly picture him rolling his eyes as he folds laundry.

Jisung’s roommate, Hwang Hyunjin, also happens to play the role of slightly-overbearing-but-well-intentioned best friend.

“Don’t be dramatic. It was more like four weeks.” Jisung kicks his foot against the curb, wincing when he accidentally adds another scuff mark to his already extremely beat-up Vans.

“My point is, if I weren’t around to bug you every single hour of every single day, you’d hibernate in your room and eat only take-out and ramen for sustenance.” The exasperation level in Hyunjin’s voice is audibly growing, “Actually you’d probably just stop eating altogether.”

Jisung sighs, glancing up at a beer bottle outlined in neon hanging above the bar he’s about to walk into. This is precisely what Hyunjin meant by _bad decisions_ , but Jisung pushes down the faint tinge of guilt that shoots through his stomach—it’s been a shitty afternoon, and what Hyunjin doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Hey my shift is gonna start soon, I’ll text you later.” Jisung hangs up after hearing Hyunjin’s customary grunt in farewell.

Walking towards the bar, Jisung spots a No Minors sign in the front window. But this is the part of Seoul that’ll turn a blind eye as long as you pay what’s due, so he forges on, letting himself get swallowed by a group of raucous college students as they push through the front door.

Inside it’s far too loud and bright and filled with sweaty people dancing against each other. Jisung retreats to a secluded corner of the bar, sitting next to a—he can’t help but notice—very attractive guy in ripped jeans and eyeliner. The stranger has a leather jacket slung across the back of his chair and looks about Jisung’s age, give or take a few years. He raises an eyebrow, tapping his mostly-full bottle of soju in a wordless question. Jisung nods.

Jisung has had soju before—in stolen sips during family gatherings or mixed with beer from red solo cups, but he can’t help thinking how it tastes like liquid hand sanitizer as the shot burns going down.

The pretty boy looks faintly amused at Jisung’s wide eyes and clenched teeth as he takes the cup back to serve himself, fingers tipping the clear green glass in a practiced move.

Jisung can feel the glowing heat of incoming tipsiness spread over his face, and _really_ leather jacket drinking buddy dude is hot as hell—this of course being the only coherent thought in his exhausted-but-moving-way-too-fast brain. He reaches for the soju again, but the other boy pulls it back along the bartop with a frown on his face and slightly creased eyebrows. 

“I know I didn’t ask this before because you looked like you needed some alcohol in your system, but are you um of legal drinking age? A shot is fine or whatever, but I’m not about to get a minor drunk and then leave them alone in a shady bar.”

“How old d’you think I am?” Jisung wonders if his smile and head tilt qualify as flirting, but the teasing tone in his voice is so obvious that even the bartender standing ten feet away can probably pick up on it.

“Not old enough to be dropping honorifics this fast, especially considering how we met six minutes ago,” the stranger replies, laughing. “And no offense, but you’re too cute to be twenty.”

“Was it the cheeks?” Oh my god, Jisung realizes he’s _pouting_. Running a hand through his bangs, he tries to rearrange his expression into something less childish.

“Mhm. And the lack of jaded cynicism in your eyes.”

“Well that, hyung-nim, is where you are wrong. Because I wouldn’t be sitting in this chair risking my ass for a sip of cheap soju if I wasn’t burned out to the point of wanting to take a fucking swim in the Han River.” Jisung regrets opening his mouth the second he starts talking, but once he begins he can’t get himself to shut up. “Sorry. I got fired today. Lowkey highkey still bitter.

The silence feels endless. “I’m nineteen.”

“It’s cool dude, cheers to adulting. My name’s Minho.” Hot Stranger—Minho—flashes Jisung a gummy smile that transforms his entire face, harsh lines softening into gentle curves. 

“Han. Call me Han,” Jisung says without thinking. And because he’s still internally panicking about the fake name he gave Minho and how overwhelming beautiful the other boy is, somehow the next thing he tells him is, “You’re pretty.”

“You’re drunk.” Minho immediately shoots back, though there’s zero bite to the words.

“You said I was cute.”

“True.” Capping the unfinished bottle of soju, Minho rises and swings the leather jacket over his shoulder. “C’mon, Hannie. I’ll buy you ice cream and we can walk to the subway station together.”

\--

“So how’d you get fired?” Minho carefully licks the side of his waffle cone so as to prevent the strawberry ice cream from dripping onto his hand.

“Boss caught me wearing headphones on my shift,” Jisung grumbles. “In my defense, nobody had come in for at least half an hour. And last time I checked, listening to music doesn’t stop me from using my eyeballs to observe the door.”

They stand in comfortable silence at the subway entrance, quietly watching people go in and out as Minho waits for Jisung to eat the last of his mint choco chip.

It’s not until they’re at the doors of his train that Jisung musters up the courage to speak, “Thank you for like, being a nice guy and not a serial killer. And thanks for the ice cream, maybe we’ll see each other around?”

“No problem,” Minho grins, waving at Jisung as the younger boy turns back around after entering his subway car, “If we do somehow meet again, you’re buying dessert.”

“You got it, hyung,” Jisung shoots him a thumbs up. He’s just about to wave back at Minho when he spots something on Minho’s left wrist—a black 19, small, unassuming, but incredibly familiar to Jisung. He squints, pulse quickening.

Just before the train doors roll shut, Jisung squeezes through, grabbing ahold of Minho’s sleeve to steady himself.

Ignoring the strange looks they’re getting from exiting passengers, Jisung whips out a pen and carefully writes his phone number on a napkin he’d pocketed in the bar. Tucking it into Minho’s jacket pocket, he shrugs, “I owe you a meal.”

As casually as possible, Jisung crosses his arms and leans against the armrest of a nearby bench. “I guess you’re going to have to wait with me for the next subway to come, right? Make sure I don’t get kidnapped.”

Minho laughs a full-body laugh, eyes shining. “I guess I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at [ne0champagne ](https://twitter.com/ne0champagne) on twitter !!
> 
> P.S. Yep the random lyrics in the middle come from Stray Kids' 19, I was going for the "Han Jisung wrote them in a notebook during his angsty teen rapper years" effect but idk if that was conveyed properly oops ANYWAYS I love this song :")


End file.
